Bloodletting
by Dragon Fire10
Summary: From the shadows came the haunting lullaby of the bloodletting...and with that kiss of darkness, her world would never be the same. A Naito/Hermione story.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own are the Shadou cousins and their real stories.

**A/N: **DH does not exist. I will not repeat myself on this. Also, I know I said I would do no more Harry Potter fanfic, but my mom's b-day comes up this week and she expressed the desire to see another of my HP fanfics crossed over with my Blood & Trust series I'm working on writing. This time she wanted Naito/Hermione. If you read Iris and more specifically the true ending for Iris then you know who Naito is already. Please enjoy and don't forget to review!

_Prologue_

The dark looming clouds separated. The moon peered from behind its dark cover. The illuminating moonlight fell down across her form. She stood on the edge of the cliff, surrounded by the waterfalls, raging in anger from the storm, falling into a pool of thrashing water down below. He could hear her heartbeat. He could feel her fear and he could taste her tears.

The way she was bathed in the moonlight reminding him of that night…watching her from the shadows and memorizing the way the moonlight danced across her skin like a gentle caress. She was much paler than she was then, dark circles forming from her lack of sleep and her pained drawn look of one experiencing excruciating agony on a daily basis.

And all he could do is watch.

They arrived in swooshing clouds of black smoke behind them, forming flowing robes of coming death. She turned to face them. He saw it on her face.

Acceptance.

She told him this would happen.

She told him she would die.

What she didn't tell him was that he would be the one to kill her. He could see the conviction building in her. She was at peace with her death and ready to see it come…ready to end it, yet she still had the look of a caged animal…caught between two deaths. Naito grabbed her, hands cupping her face; his ash colored hair darkened by the falling rain fell into his face as he stared intently into her eyes.

"Do you trust me, Hermione?"

Born from the shadows this man was everything she should fear…everything many people did fear…a former prince…a leader of Shadows.

"Yes," she whispered.

He glanced over the edge, a moment of peace washing over him. He glanced back at the Death Eaters surrounding them and said nothing, gave no warning. He grabbed Hermione's hand and jumped from the inevitable precipice. The sound of the raging water echoed in Hermione's ears, surrounding her and the feel of Naito's arm wrapping around her, pulling her to him…falling into the darkness.

**A/N: **As always, I stay ahead on my LiveJournal, so feel free to read and comment there.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing related to Harry Potter. I DO however own the Shadou cousins and Chloe, who I have allowed a reprieve from their own world to come play in this one.

**A/N: **In case you are not aware...this story is already on chapter 4 on my LJ, feel free to go there to read and comment if you don't want to wait!

**Chapter One**

_Creep_

When she stepped into the room, she was not initially aware of the sudden silence that accompanied her entrance. She moved swiftly through the room, the satin material of her dress flowing behind her in her haste. She began frantically moving cushions around on the sofa until a victorious smile spread across her face. She pulled a small deep red purse from behind the cushion. It matched her dress perfectly. She stood up straight, tendrils of hair brushing her shoulder and looked up at her silent audience.

"What?" She asked looking down at her dress worried something didn't look right. She just knew she should have changed the color. Anyone who saw her as nothing but a bookworm would not see that in this dress. She was aware of that. In fact, the very thought made her smile, but Harry and Ron's silence concerned her. Even Snape stood there in silence, his dark eyes boring into her.

"Hermione! You're a girl!"

Her worried face shifted, became tight and her cheeks sucked in as her mouth puckered in anger.

"Well spotted, _Ronald_," she spat out at him.

Snape rolled his eyes. Weasley always was an idiot.

"Wow, Hermione. You have grown up quite well." Remus entered the room with a smile on his face and Tonks following behind nodding in agreement of Remus' assessment of Hermione's appearance. She blushed the color of her dress and looked down. Snape sneered and looked away.

He waited until Remus and Tonks had taken their charges away to apparate to the wedding before he turned to look at Hermione again. She had proven to be quite irritating in the discovery of his innocence of Dumbledore's murder. He honestly had no clue how Harry and Ron put up with the chit. If he came back from a Death Eater meeting injured in any shape form or fashion there she was with an irritating crease of worry on her brow and insistence on his remaining for the night and in the mornings he woke with her infuriating face hovering above him.

She simply would not go away. And Remus seemed to either know or at least sense Snape's dislike or discomfort for this girl's attentions when Remus announced who would be escorting who to the wedding. Remus knew there was information, information to be discussed in that night's late Order meeting, that meant Hermione could not be allowed to apparate on her own. Snape would have no choice but to touch her to do side-along-apparation.

"Well come on," he snapped, sweeping from the room in agitation. Hermione followed, having quickly learned in her time caring for him to help Mrs. Weasley out, to not take his dour moods so personally. He didn't really hate _her_…he hated _everyone_ or so he would have one believe. Hermione had her doubts, but she kept those to herself.

They stood awkwardly in the square outside of Grimmauld Place. The early evening sun was hanging in the sky with a reminder of how hot the day had been and a slight breeze promised a possibly cool evening for once. As usual, the occupants of the surrounding houses were inside, in their own worlds oblivious to the witch and wizard standing outside in formal wear. Snape let out an irritated huff of air and looked down at Hermione.

"Miss Granger, we do not have all day," he said. "We have no choice but to use side-along-apparation, so if you don't mind." He held out his arm as if that were the only place she was allowed to touch and even that bothered him.

Hermione looked at his arm and then up at him.

"I'm old enough to apparate myself," Hermione stated firmly.

"However, that privilege is being revoked until further notice," he said, grabbing her arm firmly above her elbow and apparating before she could argue any further.

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He watched from the combined shadows of the trees and the night. His eyes followed her luminescent form dancing in the moonlight. The soft sound of her giggles when her dance partner twirled her around reached his ears with a whispered promise of what was to come. Her very scent was in the air around him, unnoticed by any ordinary man, but he was anything but. If he closed his eyes he could hear her heart pound, pumping that ever flowing life through her veins.

His mouth watered.

His tongue ran slowly over his slightly elongated eye-teeth. His dark eyes gleamed with hunger and longing as he watched her.

He could feel her.

Feel her false happiness flowing over the deep torment, the fear and the sadness. Oh how he could make it all better.

"She's the one," the man next to him whispered. "She's the Mudblood that cursed me. A book worm…feisty little thing." The man's eyes danced with a gleam of desire.

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Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Put the girl _down_, Weasley," he said in stilted words.

George looked at Hermione flung over his shoulder and shrugged, plopping her down onto her healed feet and laughing as she stumbled back only to be caught by Snape whose agitation was growing. He already had a headache and that girl's wretched squeal of surprise and cries for release did not improve matters. He righted the girl with furrowed brow and displeased growls. In the mayhem, Fred and George scurried off.

"You alright, Hermione?" Harry asked as soon as Hermione had her bearings. She nodded, but was unable to say anything more. Mrs. Weasley approached them, looking around the small gathering of friends and irate professor.

"We are just going to have the meeting here, Severus," she said. "Everyone is here. No sense in moving it to later. The charm has already been cast," she added setting each of the Golden Trio and her daughter with a stern look of warning. Severus cast them all glances of dislike and malice as he swept past them all entering the Weasley household with caution as if expecting it to be some grand joke on his part.

"A total nutter," Ron mumbled just loud enough for their small little circle to hear as they watched Snape enter the house.

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione admonished with her hands on her rather noticeable hips in that dress. Not that the dress made her hips look huge it just made one notice she had hips in the first place, hips of the actual girly kind. The satin material of the dress hung on her so perfectly every curve was softly emphasized. But Ron couldn't really think about that with Hermione reprimanding him rather loudly about respecting professors and especially Professor Snape. Harry was paying them little to no attention, staring at the back door to the Burrow.

"What do you think is so important the meeting couldn't wait until tomorrow?" He asked turning around, his words thoroughly halting Hermione's tirade to Ron. They all exchanged looks. No one had really thought of that question. There was simply too much excitement happening in one night to wander off into dark thoughts of possible doom looming in the short distance ahead of them.

"I don't know," Hermione said, becoming more somber as she looked toward the door as well. "It must be important though."

"Wonder if they will tell us," Ron mused aloud. Hermione shot him a look. Honestly, he should know by now they told them as little as possible. Most of their information came from more…sneaky tactics. "Yea, I guess not," Ron said noticing Hermione's look.

Ron shrugged and wandered off; the table of food was calling to him apparently. Ginny scurried off as close to the house as she could get without some Order member stationed outside the door shooing her off and Harry followed Ron toward the food. Hermione stood there beneath the moonlight for a moment perfectly still. She was alone. Her mind swirled into a hundred different directions. Her worry for Snape running through it all, her worry for Harry and not to mention her friends and the over all dark gloom that seemed to hover around them since Dumbledore's death, though they all desperately tried to act as if it wasn't there. Even her dark secrets she kept pushed deep down inside, refusing to taint Harry or Ron with.

Hermione held her arms out, twirling around in that dress, feeling the soft smooth silky fabric wrap around her legs as she stopped and plopped herself on the grass, falling back with her arms stretched out at her sides. She stared up at the moon, seemingly stationary in the sky, looking down upon them with a haunting promise of the dark nights to come.

Ron paused in his chewing, his eyes on Hermione throwing herself back against the grass and shook his head turning back toward the food on the table.

"Talk about nutters," he mumbled causing Harry to snort into his glass of pumpkin juice.

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They were having meetings so often now that Harry, Ron and Hermione all knew something was up, something they were clearly working hard to keep from them.

"The meeting may go long," Mrs. Weasley said as she sat a plate of sandwiches down on the table in the drawing room. "Nibble on these in the mean time."

"We still can't be a part of the meetings? Even after everything Dumbledore left behind?" Harry stepped forward. Indignant anger was flashing in his eyes, but he was trying his best not to take that out on Mrs. Weasley even though he was fairly certain she would put her foot down if any one mentioned allowing them to join.

Mrs. Weasley looked at him with that empathetic motherly look she often gave him when things were not going as he had hoped and shook her head.

"I'm afraid not, Harry. Just give it time. You have one year of school left."

Mrs. Weasley scurried from the room the moment she heard the door below open and several pairs of feet trudge in. Hermione sat in one of the windows, head turned around watching Harry warily. She could see the anger building in him, anger he was not releasing and that always ended badly, usually with him taking it out on her or Ron or both. She stood up.

"Harry, we all want to be a part of that meeting," she assured him, hoping to ease his anger, his self inflicted isolation so that he knew he was not alone in this, knew that his friends understood his anger and perhaps shared in it a bit. She saw his anger deflate in a long breath as he ran his hand through his ever messy hair.

"Come on, Mate," Ron said patting him on the shoulder. "Don't think on it right now. How about some chess while we wait?"

Harry looked at his best friend, thankful he talked to him on the train his first trip to Hogwarts, and thankful he had him to offer distractions when he needed them. He smiled and nodded, following Ron to the chess table. Hermione sighed in relief. Another episode headed off.

She heard the clunk of his booted feet on the old hard wood floors of Grimmauld Place. They grew louder and she knew who was coming. Her eyes looked up into the doorway of the drawing room and the moment she saw his billowing robes she called out.

"Oh! Professor!"

Snape stopped mid-step in the corridor, eyes turning toward the doorway and looking into the drawing room at the Gryffindor girl with a raised eyebrow and irritation etched on his brow. Hermione turned, grabbing a book off the table and scurried hurriedly across the room and out into the corridor.

"Thank you for the use of your book!"

Harry and Ron watched her go. Ron shook his head with a look of disgust.

"I'm telling you," he said leaning across the table and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It is not right for her to be so…_friendly_ with Snape."

Harry made his move and looked up across the board at Ron and smiled with a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Are you jealous of _Snape_?"

Ron looked beyond horrified. His mouth dropped open and his eyes grew wide.

"Why would I be jealous of that great bat?"

Hermione's laughter floated into the room and Harry smiled wider, his previous anger totally forgotten. Ron shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"What does he say to her to make her laugh like…like…"

"Like a girl, Ron?" Harry finished for Ron.

Ron closed his mouth and could say nothing but nodded his head. Harry continued smiling.

"I don't think he says anything in particular to her," Harry said, fighting his enlarged smile at Ron's discomfort and irritation.

"I don't think it's very funny, Harry," Ron said, a pouting ring to his voice as he made his move annihilating one of Harry's pawns.

They both looked up as Hermione re-entered the room a large smile on her face and sat back down in the window, her focus shifting out the window into the night for a moment. Harry had to agree with Ron on one count at least. It was strange to see Hermione seeking Snape out when he stayed at Grimmauld Place. He had seen the look on her face when he announced that Snape killed Dumbledore and saw the relief on it when they found the memories of Dumbledore's that relinquished all blame. For days after Hermione was on cloud nine, reminding them over and over that Dumbledore trusted Snape and therefore they should have from the start. And then she did everything she could to seek him out when he was there; she was even the one to find him after one Death Eater meeting that ended badly. And despite Ron all but kicking and screaming over Hermione's active participation in caring for the injured man, he still said nothing to Hermione about actually liking her.

But still, Ron was jealous over Hermione's respect for Snape and her desire for what he had to teach her. It was no different than the jealousy Ron felt over Harry's time spent alone with Hermione.

Harry smiled ever so slightly to himself as he looked across the room at Hermione.

Snape didn't exactly discourage her attention of him, so maybe Ron had reason to be jealous. But then, Snape didn't encourage it either.

Hermione turned from the window.

"Shouldn't you two get your holiday work done?"

Ron looked from Hermione to Harry like a deer caught in the headlights. Hermione looked up at Ron standing in front of the table, shoving sandwich after sandwich into his mouth.

"You haven't even done a rough draft for any of the papers, have you?"

Her eyes darted between the two. Harry swallowed his sandwich and nodded his head.

"Did mine," Harry said.

Hermione smiled. Of course Harry had. He usually did do his own work. It was Ron that didn't. It was Ron that would wait to the last possible moment and then cheat to get it done.

"I _won't_ do it for you this time," Hermione said narrowing her eyes on Ron and then turned to Harry. "Leave yours out before you go to bed tonight, Harry. I'll give it a look over for you."

Harry smiled softly.

"Thanks, Hermione."

Ron shot him an uneasy glance, one that spoke of his worry and concern over the seemingly growing friendship of Hermione and Harry's. He grudgingly went to his room and got his books. When Mrs. Weasley stepped back into the room to announce dinner was about ready, she found Hermione still sitting in the window, uncharacteristically in another world, Harry sitting at the table going over what he had already done and Ron on the sofa, just starting his work. She shook her head as she left the room.

Dinner was at it often was at Grimmauld Place, such a warm affair. Snape snarled as the Golden Trio walked in. Even with the horrors going on in the world they maintained that warm atmosphere, giving some modicum of normalcy during a time of unpredictability.

"Can't we just go to Diagon Alley for a bit?" Ginny held her fork and knife lightly in her hands as she looked down the table pleading with her mother. "Being trapped in this house day in and day out is driving me mad and I'm sure Hermione would love to go to Flourish and Blotts."

Ginny turned to look at Hermione, a slight apologetic look on her face for bringing Hermione into her argument. Hermione noticed how Mrs. Weasley looked not at Ginny, but at her before her eyes wandered around the table to the other Order members, her hands twitching by her plate, unsure what to do or say and yet there was understanding in her eyes.

"There are enough of us," Remus stated, "that we might be able to swing a small outing. Nothing too long now."

Hermione didn't miss the nervous shift of Mrs. Weasley's eyes toward her as Remus spoke or the way her lips pursed with near disapproval. Hermione had to admit though, despite the tension this outing was causing, Hermione was ready to get out of the confines of the house as well.

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Diagon Alley was not quite the bustle of activity it had been for so many of Hermione's years at Hogwarts. With the re-rise of Voldemort and the Ministry having no choice but to announce it, people became afraid to leave their homes, afraid of returning to find that horrid mark hovering above their house, afraid of who they would run into and who they might inadvertently insult. It was safest at home.

"Might as well get your supplies while we are there," Mrs. Weasley had said that morning, handing out their lists as they left the house. Hermione stepped toward Flourish and Blotts gripping her book list in her hand, Severus Snape following close behind. He had become her dark shadow since leaving the house and it not only worried Hermione, but made her nervous.

"We'll be there in a minute," Harry said, a small smile on his face.

Hermione set him and Ron both with that warning look she often got, her lips pursed.

"I won't buy your books for you," she warned before they could get away, heading toward the one place to feed their Quidditch need.

She saw him the moment she stepped into the bookstore.

He stood in the first row of books, leaning lazily against the shelves with a book open in his hand. His hair was an ash color, not his natural color; it couldn't be, not with his clearly Japanese features. The front of his hair came to just below his cheekbones and the back to his chin, cutting across his vision as he looked down into the book.

When she entered the bookstore, he slowly looked up from his open book, a smile forming on his lips, his eyes roaming over her form. She scowled at his blatant perusal of her physical form and huffed off to another shelf farther into the bookstore. Snape remained silent, following her about the bookstore, enjoying the blessed silence she had afforded him at last.

Hermione passed the divination section of the bookstore, rolling her eyes at its mere existence and turned toward the section of the bookstore containing the Ancient Ruins texts. Her fingers caressed their spines as she looked for the right one, lingering over favorite books on occasion.

She was in the Potions section when she heard it. The haunting sounds of what she imagined to be a lullaby at some point in its existence, at least somewhere in the world. And it was a horrifying thought, that this morbidly chilling melody ever soothed a child. She turned toward Severus.

"Don't you hear that?"

He looked bored, looking down at her with a raised brow, silently questioning her sanity. She could hear it though. It wasn't loud, it was a lullaby after all, but it was soft and clear. Frustrated, Hermione turned and left the section, heading straight to that first row of books. She turned the corner and came to a halt.

That young man was there still. It was almost like he knew she was coming. His head turned calmly to look at her, a small crooked smile on his face as he blindly pulled a book down, eyes never leaving Hermione. Her eyes would not leave his, but she knew what book he grabbed, one she would need for classes as well. But his eyes bore into her in such a way that she was unable to look away, unable to move.

"Lost little girl? Or do you plan on blocking that shelf all day?"

Hermione started and turned to stare into the face of another Japanese boy, this one appearing older and staring down at her like she was dinner. A fearful chill ran through her body and that was when she heard it. There was the sound of the door opening and the noise of several pairs of feet shuffling in. Her eyes shifted toward the sound.

Several dark cloaked men entered, wands being drawn out of their hiding places and pointing directly at the young man she had noticed only feet away. She was never one to stand back and watch someone die. She wouldn't do that this time either.

It all happened so suddenly.

She dropped the books she held and turned, running for the seemingly unaffected, almost humored young man. Her body slammed into his, knocking him to the ground as the green lights flew just inches over Hermione's head. The young man instinctively wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist as he fell back, his body hitting the hard wood floor of the bookstore with a loud thud. He seemed to hold her there for a second. Hermione looked down at him, intent on checking his safety, but found that crooked smile had grown and his hard lean body shifted beneath her.

"My," he said. "All you had to do was say hello, Poppet."

She moved to get up, to angrily shove the ungrateful new student away, but curses were flying over her head. Death Eaters and Order members going head to head. She frantically searched for her wand, finding it lying just out of reach beyond this young man's head. Staying low she attempted to move forward, essentially up the young man's body to get a hold of her wand. She jumped when a curse almost got her upon her attempt and the young man smiled, a low moan shifting to a soft chuckle as she threw herself back down on him as if that would save her. She pulled back to glare at him with clear dislike and indignation at his atrocious behavior.

And then he was gone.

She didn't know how or why or even when really. Hands came out of the ongoing fight, pulling her from the young man and then it all simply faded away.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except for the Shadou cousins and any one from their original story

**A/N: **Just a reminder that reviews are love and my LJ has up to chapter 5!

**Chapter Two**

_Haunted_

The haunting melody filled the silence of the room. The soft humming echoed in the large empty room. The sound chilled Hermione and lured her from her unconscious state. She moaned as her consciousness began to slowly return, bringing with it a splitting headache and only flashes of memory of being in the bookstore. Slowly, she sat up, taking in the large room.

It was empty. Every move she made rattled the chains around her wrists and the sound echoed in the void of the room. One end of the room was nothing but a large clock…the time silently ticking by. Large windows ran along one side of the wall in even intervals. Light, almost sheer drapes of the deepest red hung from these windows blowing out into the room, proof the windows were open. The material seemed to float in the air creating an eerie environment to accompany the ghostly atmosphere the lullaby conjured. She felt a chill run up her spine and through her body. Why was she taken? Was everyone else okay? Was that young man, that irritating young man she tackled to safety alright? And why was she being kept in such a large room?

The haunting sounds of what could only be an old lullaby continued to drift like a phantom from the black shadows of the room. She recognized it. She remembered hearing the same reminiscent sounds just before the attack. It had gently filled her head, the sounds of a haunted past, but Snape didn't seem to hear it. It made no sense.

So was she really hearing the lullaby? Was someone in the room with her, hiding in the shadows? Had someone been hiding in the shadows of the book store watching her as well? She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. The echoing of the chain did not interrupt the lullaby. Whoever was humming the sounds of coming tragedy did not miss a beat, as if death itself was lurking in the shadows taunting her with his perfection.

*****

"_Harry, it's alright to cry," Hermione said, stroking the hair off his forehead. _

_His head lay in her lap and he was exhausted. All his energy had been spent keeping up the façade; showing only the anger he felt at the life hand had dealt him, but not showing the grief. Watching Dumbledore's death had been a heavy blow and Harry was not hiding his anger, but his grief was buried deep with in, only to surface when the sun set and the occupants of the house slept._

_Hermione was always there though, roaming through the house with a book in hand or folded in a chair in the corner with a book. And she was always there with her arms open for him. There was nothing romantic about it. She was one of his best friends. And he would cry, face buried in her lap, releasing all that he had held in and she would fold herself over his form, arms around him the best she could and his heartbreak would bring forth her tears and together they would mourn the loss of a great man…a great leader among them…_

Harry stared angrily out the window. The square beneath was empty, the sun having long set and he simply stared as if Hermione would suddenly appear if he wished hard enough, if he demanded loud enough. And as hard as he tried he simply could not blame Snape. True, Snape had been there, she had been taken right from under his nose and Harry thought he _should_ be angry with him, but he wasn't.

How could he be angry when Snape was gone…off to a Death Eater meeting hoping to find out more information? How could he be angry when Snape was putting himself in danger to find his friend, the irritating Know-It-All? Harry turned from the window for a moment, eyes sweeping over the drawing room. Ron was the only one in the room with him, sitting at the table before his holiday work, staring at the blank parchment and open book.

"…_Ronald Weasley!"_

_Ron stood there, looking down at his own feet feeling thoroughly chagrined for that initial moment after she said his full name with such indignant disappointment. But it faded almost too quickly to do him any good and he looked up at Hermione with a smile and innocent eyes, as if he really did not see the problem._

"_I forgot is all, Hermione. We can't all be as smart as you."_

_His words were meant to flatter. After all, Hermione seemed to prize her academic gift above all other talents she may possess. He second guessed his decision when her eyes narrowed slightly, surveying him from head to toe. She was terribly frightening when she was angry and Ron was scared to the bone that he had angered her, seriously angered her._

_Her hand shot out from the fold of her elbow._

"_Hand it here, Ronald." With an almost shy smile he sat the nearly blank parchment in her hand. Hermione turned toward the table and as she sat down at her plethora of books she looked up at the red head. "This is the last time," she warned him before bowing her head over his assignment..._

Ron stared down at the fresh parchment. They had so many moments like that, so many moments when he meant to tell her how he felt, wanted to, but somehow his idiocy always screwed it up. Could he have really done that then? Could he have looked at her while she did his work and say "Hermione, I know I'm the most academically challenged man you know, but I like you?"

No, of course he couldn't.

What woman would want to hear that? He dropped his quill and lowered his face into his hands, rubbing the skin as if to rid himself of all those missed chances. What made him fathom the possibility of doing his holiday work when Hermione was missing? Would that bring her back? Would she walk through that door suddenly proud of him and telling him how he had to learn this little lesson and that she was never gone really?

This was Snape's fault.

He was supposed to be watching her…keeping her safe, not delivering her to the enemy and then claiming ignorance of her whereabouts. Snape was to blame.

Ron lowered his hands at the sudden cry of his mother calling for Ginny to come quickly. Ron remained unmoved, unworried as his sister ran past the drawing room door and her feet thudding rapidly down the stairs echoed in the empty corridor.

…_Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, facing Ginny on the edge of her bed. Hermione's head lowered and the tears began to fall. It startled Ginny. Only moments ago they were at dinner, laughing over some stunt the twins pulled while there. There was no indication of the possibility of tears any moment._

"_Hermione?" Ginny scooted closer, barely teetering on the edge of her bed and leaning closer to Hermione, trying to get her friend to look at her._

_Hermione looked up at her, tears streaming down her cheeks as if she had been waiting so long to shed them, buried them until they were painful pools of shame flowing from her eyes. At first, Ginny worried her brother had done or said something stupid again. He often did, but usually Hermione got angry and if it was hurtful there was nothing more than a little sniffle to show her pain. _

_These were tears, streaming down her cheeks in torrents of sorrow._

"_Hermione? What is it? What is wrong?" Ginny's voice was changing, becoming laced with worry and near panic._

_Hermione took a deep shuddering breath and wiped tears from her cheeks despite the new tears falling. Her sad eyes looked at Ginny._

"_You can't tell Harry or Ron," she whispered, afraid of being over heard through the door if she spoke too loud._

_Ginny nodded her head and swore to Hermione she would tell not a soul. And she sat there silently horrified as Hermione explained how her parents had died horrifically at the start of the summer, how Death Eaters had come to her house, how Professor Snape had been the one save her and her alone. And Ginny's heart broke. How long had she been carrying this secret?_

"_If Harry knew," Hermione said through gasps of air. "He would blame himself. He already blames himself for so much…"_

Ginny closed her eyes effectively cutting off the view of the empty bed across from her. She kept her promise. The boys knew nothing of the start of Hermione's summer prior to arriving at Grimmauld Place. She continued her façade in front of the boys and would notice the worried sideways glances of her mother.

But for several nights now, Ginny had slept in that room alone. She lay there each night staring at the empty bed. Did they take her to finish what they started? Was she even still alive or would Snape come back from the Death Eater meeting with only directions to her lifeless body?

She felt a chill at that very realistic possibility and wondered how many people would die by Voldemort's hands. How long would they all suffer before this ended? She tore herself from the bed just as she heard her mother calling for her, a worried ring to her voice. Ginny ran down the corridor and down the stairs.

Snape was back.

He was just within the door, crumpled to the ground and unconscious.

…_She was a blurred vision hovering above him. He could hear her breathing so he knew he wasn't dead. His body hurt though, from head to toe as if he had been drawn and quartered only to live to tell the tale. Too often he wished to never return, but always remembered why…her face always found its way into his memory at that exact moment and he would curse under his breath._

_He was still alive and someone was piddling around his room, talking to him, being very chatty as a matter of fact. She, for it was a she, was a constant stream of words from somewhere nearby. The skewed room began to refocus, turning right, becoming bright…too bright. Who opened the bloody drapes so wide? His eyes, the one thing he could move without pain, shifted to the sound of that irritating voice._

_It was Miss Granger._

_And she wasn't talking. She was reading. He closed his eyes. She continued reading to him. Mr. Darcy was currently in all his snarky glory with Elizabeth. Why that book? If he had to hear her grating voice reading a book at his bedside because, Merlin knew, he was unable to escape, did it have to be that book? He opened his eyes again, moving his arm so very slowly. Hermione's words stopped, watching his pained stilted movements curiously. _

_He was barely able to grip the very edge of the book and pulled it unceremoniously from Hermione's lap allowing it to drop to the floor with a thud. He heard the indignant click of her tongue and ignored it._

"_Why must it always be that wretched book? If it's not that one then it is something just as revolting like 'Jane Eyre.' Books filled with unpleasant, pretentious characters that no ordinary person can connect with. All of you," Snape continued. "Why must you assume I like Victorian Literature?"_

_His eyes shifted back to the girl, expecting to see tears. That was not what he saw. What he saw was an angry young woman, sitting straight in her chair by his bed, lips puckered, cheeks drawn in and eyes narrowed. She picked the book up and plopped it on his bedside table._

"_You, Professor," she said standing up and hovering above his prone body. "Are in no position to bully me today…"_

His eyes opened. Someone was hovering above him, her face blurred, until she discovered his open eyes and then she scurried across the room. That wasn't Miss Granger. Miss Granger no longer feared him. He shifted, testing his body and its aches. The curses weren't as bad this last time. Voldemort had not been directly angry at him, just angry in general. That simple fact lessened the amount of damage inflicted on him. His eyes landed on the red head girl hovering near the door ready to bolt at the first scowl from him.

This was not how he was supposed to wake up from these torments. He was supposed to wake up with that insufferable girl sitting by his bed reading some mundane book she found well written without any concern to what he enjoyed hearing. He sat himself up slowly, his eyes landing on the skittish looking red head and snarled, sending her bolting from the room in record time. He threw the covers off his body, pushing any thought of pain to the back of his mind for later and pulled himself out of bed.

He pulled her from the wreckage of her house.

He saved her life once.

He did not save her life only to see it end this way.

And now, he knew where she was at.

*****

The pale moonlight danced in across the floor, illuminating Hermione in the middle of the room. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to peer into the darkness he took cover in. He watched her every move, humming his haunting tune. With a deep inhale he could smell her…smell the blood flowing through her veins…her _life_. His humming stopped, pausing to allow the sudden silence to linger, his tongue moving sensually over his eye-teeth…slightly elongated, just enough to show how hungry he was if anyone was looking for it…just enough to give him something to toy with.

Hermione could feel the eyes on her, watching her. It was every night. She watched the wind push the sheer material off the windows, setting it to float like a phantom, waving ever so slightly in the wind. With a deep inhale she could smell the coming rain and she wondered why she was still alive and exactly where she was at.

For days she waited for her execution, waited for who she assumed to be Voldemort to either demand his men to get information from her or simply kill her now. She waited with her heart pounding in her chest. She waited with a sense of acceptance coupled with overpowering fear. Was she ready to die? Did she not know this could happen when she remained in the Wizarding world where Voldemort ran loose? Did she not know this could happen when she befriended The-Boy-Who-Lived?

Yes, she did.

But that did not mean she was ready to die. Yet, as each day passed and she felt those eyes watching her so intently, unable to see them for herself, but knowing, feeling them in the blackened shadows of the room, she began to almost wish for it. It was like being hunted, except she was already chained in her cage awaiting her slaughter.

She sat in the middle of the floor, the chains rattling as she settled herself. Perhaps she would get lucky again and Professor Snape would come to her rescue. Her own personal hero and he didn't even realize it. She sighed and looked out the window at the moon, the clouds shifting in front of it, revealing its creamy glow. Her only hope in that moment was that her friends were safe, that they would live through this terrible time in the Wizarding world and that they would be the victors at the end.

She didn't hear the door when it opened.

*****

"Albus! Is that even safe? What would possess you to admit this boy before you go and die and leave this mess for me?"

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore smiled, amusement sparkling in his eyes as he let the new Headmistress, McGonagall go on her little tangent of panic and worry without interruption. Years had taught him it was best to let her get it all out usually. It was the rare occasion he would interrupt to prevent her steam from rising further. When her words finally faded into a huff of disbelief and a scowl from the Headmistress, Dumbledore smiled.

"Won't you have a lemon drop, Minerva? Top right drawer."

"No, Albus. I will not," she said in clipped tones, indignant that the old Headmaster would still offer such a thing to her as if that little lemon drop could solve all the problems. She often wondered what he did to them.

Albus shrugged and pulled a tin of lemon drops from his inside robes and popped one in his mouth, smiling as the sourness filled his mouth. McGonagall was still staring at him in clear disapproval.

"Minerva, there were concerns when Remus was a boy as well. That turned out well."

McGonagall tossed her hands in the air and stepped around her desk coming to a stop in front of Dumbledore's portrait.

"This is clearly different, Albus!"

He looked at her with a slightly raised brow.

"How so?"

"Albus, Remus could not help what he was and he only turned once a month. He was not even conscious of his thoughts during the change. This boy," she said pointing to a new student folder on her desk. "This boy does not change into anything once a month. He is _always_ going to be that dark creature. It is his state of being at all times! And this professor you lined up for my old post. What were you thinking!"

"He's not like the others, Minerva. You'll see, just give it time. And the professor will not be any problem. He will report to us, in fact I believe he has been helping to keep Severus' cover for a while now. Now, any word on Miss Granger yet?"

He watched the anger deflate from McGonagall's face at the mention of her prize student.

"No," she said suddenly solemn and subdued.+

*****

She looked down at the dress as it was tossed down to her feet. A cloaked man stood in the room in plain sight. His eyes were dark and held nothing short of hatred whether it was for Hermione or for his task, she was not sure.

"You have five minutes to get the dress on," the man said unlocking the shackles from around her wrist. "I will be back then. And don't try anything. All exits have been warded with a magic you've never even touched upon…a magic not of this world for the time span it will take you. There is no escape."

The door slammed behind the man. Hermione bent down picking up the antique white dress. The material was so soft between her fingers and so delicate, like it came from some other century and was worn by the noble. No peasant would have worn such a fine dress. Her eyes lingered to the open windows, contemplating trying to escape, but the man's warning held a promise of something a little more than just trouble if she tried. She glanced at the large clock. Her minutes were ticking by.

She moved swiftly, removing her clothes and replacing them with the dress she was given. It was a strange request and one the man didn't seem too keen to make. He was not the one watching her all this time. His eyes did not penetrate her the way her watcher's did. She didn't feel naked when he looked at her, unlike when her watcher lingered in the dark shadows. With shaking hands she pulled the dress up, fighting with the zipper in the back. It was so tight up top…fitting her in such a manner as to accentuate parts of her she normally did not.

She was embarrassed to be in that dress, even in the darkness of that room. The door burst open without even a knock startling Hermione. The irate man approached her, locking the shackles around her wrists again and pulling out a blind fold made of a material that looked to match the dress she wore. She sniffled, feeling the tears forming as he tied the soft material around her, thoroughly blocking anything from her sight. Her chin quivered in fear and upset.

The man said nothing as he left, the door slamming behind him, leaving Hermione alone. So, she would not even get the chance to look her executioner in the eyes and tell him how much she loathed his very being. She would not get to face him. She would be blindfolded, blocked from seeing death as it came for her.

He watched her from those dark shadows. She turned in circles, feeling his penetrating gaze, as if she would find him and see him. The thunder rolled over the sky outside, the wind pushing those sheer red drapes out, floating around Hermione like some phantom trying to reach out and caress her. The moon shifted behind the clouds, allowing a sliver of its light to pass through, illuminating the smooth pale skin of her bare shoulder.

His tongue moved slowly over his lips.

She was blinded, unable to see him, but oh how she could feel him. His eyes burned her skin, setting her on fire; her heart pounded heavily in her chest and she knew he was near…so near. The heat radiated off his body like waves of desire crashing around her.

He slowly circled her, looking her over from head to toe, appreciating every curve the dress accentuated and loving every part the skirt hid…like a prize to be unwrapped. He watched the way her chest heaved in anxiety and in reaction to his very presence near her. Her bottom lip trembled and a soft low cry came from her lips.

He stopped behind her, reaching his hands out to rest upon her arm, whispering a soft hushing sound to sooth her. He could feel her body shaking, almost as much as his was…though for different reasons. Hers was fear and he had no doubt there was a modicum of dark inhibited desire stirring deep down…he could feel it in the air around her. His was pure desire couple with his forced calm…control was what he needed…control of himself.

But the feel of just her arm beneath his finger tips, resting on his palm was almost too much, almost enough to send him into moans of whimpering desire. But he was the one in control. He had to be.

His hands moved slowly up to her shoulder. He stepped forward, so close behind her that his head was pressed against hers, one arm dropping to wrap around her waist and keep her close, very close to him; close enough that she could feel his every breath and feel it tickling the skin of her neck. The hand on her shoulder moved up her neck, pushing her head down, tilting it to the side, exposing the pure untainted skin. She gasped for air unaware of how that very act only enticed him, sending so many overpowering waves of desire and hunger through him that his body trembled against hers.

His lips touching her neck sent an odd chill through her. His lips were soft and warm and they caressed her skin almost kissing all the fear away. And then she felt it; the sliding of teeth against her neck, scraping against her skin as if in warning that he could be so rough if unable to control himself.

She barely heard the rain burst from the clouds through the sound of her rushing blood pounding in her ears and the low moan of the man behind her. And then she felt it. His teeth sinking deep into her skin, his arms tightening around her, holding her so much closer, smashing her back against him, his heart beating against her back and the almost orgasmic moan of the man who she realized was not a Death Eater.

He was a vampire.


End file.
